


Synopsis: Unusual Suspects

by dairesfanficrefuge_archivist



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Meta, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-12-31
Updated: 2003-12-31
Packaged: 2018-12-18 07:20:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11869344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist/pseuds/dairesfanficrefuge_archivist
Summary: Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived atDaire's Fanfic Refuge. Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address onDaire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile.





	Synopsis: Unusual Suspects

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Daire, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Daire's Fanfic Refuge](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Daire%27s_Fanfic_Refuge). Deciding to give the stories a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Daire's Fanfic Refuge's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/dairesfanficrefuge/profile).

Unusual Suspects

**UNUSUAL SUSPECTS**

Any episode with Fitz is a delight! Even 'Star-Crossed' was a romp until that _dreadful_ ending. Fortunately for Highlander fans, Kalas could not put an end to Hugh Fitzcairn permanently. Our favorite rascal survives in _glorious_ flashbacks, immortal even in death-and, as we learn in the conclusion of Season Six-beyond! 

This comedic farce is a gem. It's a whodunit with Fitz as the hapless victim, and a befuddled Duncan as the moustached sleuth whose prime suspects keep dying on him. A bumbling Duncan MacLeod is a refreshing novelty and takes a bit of getting used to. 

There are no swordfights and no beheadings. Yet more characters die in this episode than in most others. Duncan doesn't seem discomfited as the corpses pile up...quite out of character for him. 

In addition, of course, there are the horrible, bone-chilling shrieks of the Widow Fitzcairn. 

The sound effects are priceless. Glass shatters when Juliette screams. Monkeys chatter, chickens cluck (all on cue), crashing thunder and lightning punctuate each grisly revelation. Everyone had fun in this one. 

**_New Characters:_**

**JULIETTE FITZCAIRN** \- Fitz's beautiful, but over-sexed wife whose grief over his passing was a mite short-lived. 

**PERCY TYNEBRIDGE** \- Fitz's business partner. 

**NORBERT DRIMBLE** \- Fitz's solicitor ('attorney' or 'lawyer' to those of us on this side of The Pond). 

**SIMON LOXLEY** \- Fitz's accountant. 

**MARIE** \- the maid, managed to get around very well in that big house (lots of bedrooms). 

**PIERRE** \- Fitz's butler, also got around until Fitz parked the car on his foot. 

* * *

England, October, 1929   
Fitzcairn Manor, North Tidworth 

The lord of the manor-   
Is fashionably late.   
But since it's his party,   
The guests have to wait.   
Pierre meets the car-   
Man-servant, quintessential-   
He greets Hugh Fitzcairn-   
With an air deferential. 

Fitzcairn stops the car-   
(As it were), on a dime.   
Happily unaware-   
There's a problem, this time.   
The car's right front tire-   
Is heavily resting-   
On the butler's left foot,   
As his groans are attesting. 

Not cognizant of-   
Pierre's mounting anguish,   
Fitz rushes off,   
Not deigning to languish...   
He must greet his guests.   
In the parlor, a pause,   
When their jaunty host enters-   
Reluctant applause. 

A small stage and mike,   
Await his arrival.   
Three guests, two musicians-   
Seem bored, past survival.   
'To our annual grouse shoot,   
And executive witch hunt,'   
Fitzcairn bids them welcome-   
Each emits a low-pitch grunt. 

Politely, they laugh,   
Not thinking it funny.   
(But grumbling aside,   
They adore Fitz's money).   
'Ladies and gentlemen!'   
Fitz now proclaims,   
' _These_ men made us rich!'   
Now calling their names. 

'Percy Tynebridge, my partner,   
Then there's Norbert Drimble,   
The finest solicitor,   
With legalities, nimble.   
Then last, but not least-   
This many-sceptered isle's-   
Only honest accountant-   
Simon Loxley!' (Weak smile). 

'To join us on vocals,   
My dear special guest,   
The apple of my orchard,   
To me, she's the best,   
The fire in my heart,   
The love of my life,   
I present to you-Juliette,   
My beautiful wife.' 

Fitz holds in one hand-   
His slim clarinet-   
The other, he extends-   
To this mincing coquette,   
No smudging of lipstick,   
For this little ditzy,   
Fitz: 'You're so naughty!'   
She: 'I love you, Fitzy!' 

Fitz's downbeat-   
Cues the music to start.   
The tune is the kind-   
That tugs at the heart,   
But only for those-   
With six legs and wings,   
_These_ guests are unmoved   
As Juliette sings... 

'Fiddle-dee-dee,   
Fiddle-dee-dee.   
The fly has married-   
The bumblebee.   
Says the fly, says he-   
Will you marry me,   
And live with me,   
Sweet bumblebee?' 

Fitz now chimes in-   
On solo clarinet,   
A change from 'The Who,'   
( _They_ don't need Juliette).   
Fitcairn's doing fine-   
On his licorice stick-   
When out of the blue-   
His vibrato sounds sick. 

The notes are mere squeaks,   
He's gasping for air,   
Juliette is annoyed,   
Looks at Fitz in despair,   
He gamely resumes,   
Blowing one final squawk,   
Then falls over backwards,   
His face white as chalk. 

The guests, bored no longer-   
Now rush to his side,   
'Juliette,' he croaks-   
To his dumbfounded bride.   
' _Fitz!_ ' she kneels down,   
All hope now has fled   
When Tynebridge announces-   
'Good G-d, he's _dead!_ ' 

Some screams are the kind   
Filled with horror, intense,   
Some pierce the soul-   
With emotion, immense   
But the blood curdling shriek-   
That Juliette emits-   
Shatters glass and the eardrums-   
Of those around Fitz. 

Fitz's Funeral, A Few Days Later 

His name's on the stone,   
And inscribed right below,   
Very tastefully carved-   
Is 'My Romeo.'   
Juliette sniffles-   
Through her eulogy,   
Tynebridge, Drimble and Loxley,   
Attend wearily. 

The widow's in black,   
Semi-veiled, filmy lace   
Impeccably coifed,   
Every blond curl in place.   
No lipstick smudges,   
To mar the effect.   
Her demeanor is perfect-   
Sorrowful and abject 

Duncan MacLeod-   
Arrives, his face set-   
With a somber expression,   
Just as Juliette-   
Recites from the song-   
That Fitz loved the best,   
'My special love song,'   
Will lay him to rest. 

'Fiddle-dee-dee'   
With tears, her eyes brim,   
'Fiddle-dee-dee'   
(Meant so much to him).   
On 'sweet bumble bee,'   
The tears freely flow,   
MacLeod's gut rebels-   
At this lachrymose show. 

Two of the mourners-   
Can't wait to be going,   
But Loxley will blot-   
The tears that are flowing-   
From that face, angelic-   
That smiles gratitude,   
Are the looks they exchange-   
Just a wee bit too lewd? 

The coffin is lowered,   
Mac stifles his pain,   
A stiff upper lip-   
He strives to maintain.   
When he feels the Buzz,   
He calmly goes looking-   
To find out what deviltry-   
Fitzcairn's been cooking. 

The Greenhouse 

Up from the leaves-   
Fitz pops like a monkey,   
Waves a bouquet-   
Of lilies, at Dunkie.   
Mac tells him, with feeling-   
How the funeral moved him.   
Fitz condemns the low turnout,   
(Death hasn't improved him). 

'Half a dozen people,   
For a man of my class!'   
Mac tells him he's acting-   
Like a consummate ass,   
'You have no stature,   
Your standing's a joke,   
For eight hundred years,   
Up till now, you've been broke.' 

'I'm a late bloomer,   
But _you,_ at least came.'   
'Just to see what becomes-   
Of your latest game.'   
'You think _I_ did this?   
Nothing could be absurder!'   
I'll have you know-   
My death was a _murder!_ ' 

'You'll do any thing-   
For attention,' scolds Mac   
'Excuse me! My death-   
Was by heart attack!   
Heart attacks do not cause-   
Sudden death in Immortals.'   
'Unless they're _induced._ '   
MacLeod almost chortles. 

' _Exactly!_ The timing-   
Could not have been worse,   
All my assets and cash-   
That I had in my purse-   
In American stocks-   
Have been funneled, invested-   
A 'return-from-the-dead-fund.'   
To a new name, bequested 

Mac holds Fitz's lilies,   
Now it's his turn to smirk,   
'And you're slightly behind-   
With your paperwork?'   
'I was murdered before-   
I could name the new 'Me,''   
'Ha, HA! Now you're _broke!_   
Mac bellows with glee. 

Fitz is indignant!   
'How crass you can be...   
My assets might as well-   
Be buried with me.'   
'Well, what can _I_ do?'   
Mac asks, (not too thrilled),   
Grins Fitz, 'You can find-   
Just who had me killed.' 

Mac thinks it's a hoot,   
'Fitz-I'm no cop!   
And it's only money...'   
Fitz's look makes him stop.   
'No,' Fitz insists,   
'It's much more than that.'   
Mac pats Fitz's cheeks,   
Puckishly, with his hat. 

Juliette calls...'Duncan,'   
Mac shoves Fitz away.   
Concealed in the foliage,   
The 'dead' man must stay.   
Mac quickly assumes-   
An air of dejection,   
The hint of a tear-   
For Juliette's inspection. 

'I needed a moment,'   
He despondently sighs.   
Juliette sympathizes,   
'If you close you eyes...   
It's almost as if...   
Fitz is still here...'   
'I know what you mean,'   
Almost shedding a tear. 

As Juliette glides-   
In the doorway's direction,   
Mac offers the lilies-   
'With my affection.'   
She kisses his cheek,   
Just a brush from her lips,   
Then slowly departs,   
Swishing her hips. 

Mac rejoins Fitz,   
On a platform, observing-   
The curvaceous widow,   
Swaying and swerving,   
'How she walks in that dress.'   
Fitz laments, bittersweet.   
'Those muscles hide passion,   
Like a lioness in heat.' 

'She's in mourning,' says Mac   
And reminds Fitz, 'You're _dead!_ '   
Juliette glances back,   
Then continues ahead.   
Fitcairn glares at Mac,   
(Who's admiring the view),   
'You _wouldn't!_ ' 'Oh, _no!_ '   
That, he'd NEVER do! 

Fitzcairn's Study/Adjoining Room, Later 

Tynebridge and Loxley,   
Drimble, Juliette-   
Sit across from MacLeod,   
All extremely upset.   
They're in shock, after hearing-   
MacLeod calmly state-   
That he has sole charge-   
Of Fitzcairn's estate. 

'I'm sole executor,   
The will has decreed it.   
Two days from the funeral-   
(Not before), may I read it.'   
'Be serious!' 'Ridiculous!'   
With anger, they brim,   
'We're busy, can't wait-   
Two days, on your whim!' 

'Maybe,' says MacLeod-   
'I am not being clear.'   
Up to now, he's been cool-   
Relaxed and sincere.   
(But, he feels a Buzz,   
Now he's guarded, alert,   
Where in the world-   
Is Fitzcairn, that squirt?) 

'With no blood relations-   
Mentioned in his affairs.   
Only you four-   
Are his possible heirs.'   
(There...the large portrait-   
With both eyes cut out,   
Fitz's eyes peeking through,   
Darting swiftly about.) 

Tynebridge recants,   
'I've overreacted.'   
'Quite right,' parrots Loxley   
Their farewells retracted.   
'Besides, dreadful weather,   
To be on the road.'   
Yet, the day's bright and clear-   
At the Fitzcairn abode. 

Mac nears the portrait.   
'The eyes seem to know...   
Amazing! They follow-   
Wherever you go!'   
He diverts the attention-   
Of the mourners, so slickly,   
Then jabs Fitz's eyes-   
With his fingers...real quickly. 

Fitzcairn cries out!   
Mac clutches his heart...   
Pretending that he's-   
Overcome by the art.   
'This artist's genius-   
Pains me to the core...   
Excuse me, I must-   
Attempt to find more.' 

He slips in next door-   
Where the 'dead man' was peering.   
MacLeod warns Fitzcairn-   
'Stop interfering!'   
'But,' Fitz insists-   
'We're a team, laddie.'   
Mac has a notion-   
This all will end badly. 

'The _real_ will, they think-   
Is in my possession.   
How long, before one of them-   
Forgoes discretion...   
And tries to kill _me?_ '   
Fitz agrees, 'It is risky.'   
Then a voice interrupts them.   
It's soft, sweet, but frisky. 

'Duncan?' It's Juliette,   
Baring her soul.   
If she knew the will's contents-   
Her heart would be whole.   
'Feel-my heart's broken.'   
She pulls MacLeod's hand-   
Onto her breast.   
This is _not_ what he planned. 

'It...doesn't feel broken,'   
(Conscious that Fitz-   
Is behind the next curtain,   
Losing his wits).   
Fitz clears his throat.   
Juliette hears the noise.   
'It must have been me.'   
Mac clings to his poise. 

'The will?' she inquires,   
Still clutching his hand-   
Against her warm breast.   
(Can't this fool understand?)   
'Is there something wrong?'   
'With the will?' 'No, the breast.'   
'Oh, no, It's...it's fine.   
Now she's _really_ distressed! 

Even Fitzcairn-   
Mouthes 'Fine!' with disgust.   
Juliette is furious,   
Irate and nonplussed!   
'Fitzy said they-   
Were extraordinary!'   
'But they are!' Mac affirms,   
His critique mammillary. 

'Juliette, I'm sorry-   
But, I cannot shed-   
Any light on the will-   
Before it is read.'   
' _You_ of all people...'   
She passionately pleads   
'I hoped would perceive-   
My deeply felt needs.' 

When she is gone,   
Fitz berates MacLeod... ' _Fine?_ '   
'That's for motor cars, china-   
A very good wine,   
But 'fine' is hardly-   
The way to refer-   
To a breast that is perfect!'   
(Says the great connoisseur). 

'Let's get back to business,'   
But, Fitz wants a drink,   
Imbibing some spirits-   
Will help him to think.   
'It's Drimble! I _know_ it!   
Suspicious, he acted!   
The papers he drew up-   
Were long and protracted.' 

'No more suspect than others,   
Nothing points to the chap.'   
'Exactly,' says Fitz-   
'We must set a trap.   
Re-arrange the grouse shoot,   
Have it go on as planned,   
The killer will shoot _you._ '   
'Brilliant! How grand!' 

The Next Morning 

The five stalwart hunters-   
March into the mist,   
The sky is the color-   
Of pale amethyst.   
Hounds at the ready   
To retrieve the downed prey,   
Mac comments, 'Foul weather-   
Is heading this way.' 

One grouse is flushed.   
All guns now fire.   
Mac looks around,   
The grouse just flies higher.   
Tynebridge swears, 'Damn!'   
Then Drimble drops.   
_Shot!_ Mac declares-   
'He's dead.' The hunt stops. 

Then from her lungs-   
Comes Juliette's shriek.   
It sets the dogs howling,   
As it reaches its peak-   
The grouse that flew off-   
Most likely succumbs-   
As her ear-piercing wail-   
Breaks tiny eardrums. 

Parlor, Fitzcairn Manor 

The storm Mac predicted-   
Is raging full force.   
Rain, gusts, and lightning,   
Loud thunder, of course.   
An atmosphere gothic,   
Outside the winds howl.   
Inside, a discussion-   
Of murder, most foul. 

With notebook in hand,   
Duncan's set to proceed.   
Loxley huffs, 'You suggest-   
One of _us_ did the deed?'   
'And my poor Fitzy...'   
Widow Juliette squeaks,   
'Was he murdered too?'   
To them all, Duncan speaks. 

'Two murders, two days.   
Coincidence? Please!'   
Loxley confirms-   
He's felt ill at ease.   
'Then why not...' asks Mac,   
'...locate Pierre?   
Send him to the village-   
The constable's there.' 

In limps Pierre,   
Foot encased in a cast.   
It was broken when under-   
Fitz's tire, it passed.   
Duncan rethinks-   
Assigning a mission-   
To a man in Pierre's-   
Pathetic condition. 

Marie and Pierre-   
With guests in the house,   
Compete to announce-   
The dinner-'Roast grouse.'   
Juliette turns weepy-   
(Grouse was Fitzy's favorite)   
'Tearing their tiny drumsticks,   
How he would savour it.' 

Duncan peers up-   
From his little notebook,   
As Marie gives to Juliette-   
The nastiest look.   
Back to his list,   
Names neatly displayed,   
He might get a clue-   
From the quiet French maid. 

The Kitchen 

'Hello!' calls MacLeod,   
Entering breezily.   
'Is it all right-   
If I call you Marie?'   
'Yes.' She continues-   
Her work, busy chopping...   
Veggies for dinner,   
Showing no sign of stopping. 

'I saw that look-   
You gave Juliette.   
Fitzcairn was my friend...   
I'm trying to get-   
Information...I promise,   
Discrete, I will be.   
Any confidence held-   
In strict privacy.' 

'If you were that close,   
Then you'd be aware-   
Monsieur Fitz never loved-   
That woman out there.   
It's _me_ that he loved!'   
'How can you be certain?'   
'I'm carrying his child!   
That's more than just flirtin'.' 

'And are you _sure..._   
That it's Fitzcairn's child?'   
What an outrageous query!   
MacLeod has her riled.   
'Who _else?_ ' she demands,   
'The butcher? The baker?   
The _chauffeur?_ ' Mac scribbles...   
(He's a speedy note-taker). 

'...And Tynebridge...just once.'   
Mac fights to keep pace.   
She's mated with every-   
Male in the place!   
Her housekeeping chores-   
Must cause her frustration,   
When they interfere-   
With a new copulation. 

The knife in her hand-   
Has considerable size.   
'You all make me _sick!_ '   
She finally cries.   
The veggies forgotten,   
The rain, the wind's roar-   
Add drama...as Mac-   
Is chased out the door. 

A Hallway 

Suits of armor, aligned.   
From one, there emits-   
'Ps-ss-t!' MacLeod knows-   
It has to be Fitz.   
He checks out the visors-   
Till he lifts the right one.   
Inside is Fitzcairn,   
Asking what MacLeod's done. 

With a mace in his fist,   
Fitz erect, at attention.   
How Mac keeps from howling-   
Defies comprehension.   
'Did you see Marie?'   
Mac tells him the latest.   
'Papa Fitz' beams with pride,   
This news is the greatest! 

'A lassie or laddie-   
To bounce on my knee!   
Just imagine it, Mac.'   
He continues with glee.   
MacLeod lets him blather-   
Then pulls out the skids.   
'You idiot! Immortals-   
Cannot have kids!' 

'The _slut!_ ' spouts Fitzcairn,   
Not missing a beat.   
'That butler!' 'Or the butcher?'   
Teasing Fitz is a treat.   
'Or the baker?' 'Haven't got one!'   
'Well, Tynebridge...one time!'   
'He's _married._ ' 'So were _you!_ '   
'She's my _maid,_ that's no crime!' 

'Enough!' cries Fitzcairn   
'Hard facts we require!'   
(The arrogant knight-   
Commanding his squire),   
'No more trivialities,   
No more palaver.'   
'Well, try this for size,   
Drimble's a cadaver!' 

'Drimble is _dead?_   
I must have been wrong!'   
The suspect list, now-   
Will not be as long.   
'Must have been Marie.'   
'She wished you no harm,   
Only after your money...'   
'Ah, the old Fitzcairn charm!' 

The dinner gong tolls,   
'Later,' says Mac   
'But how will I ever-   
Get my money back?'   
'After my dinner.'   
From Fitz, a sad bleat-   
'What about _me?_ '   
'Dead men don't eat!' 

(Now some have conjectured,   
Is there a chance?   
That this was a plug-   
For 'Dead Men Can't Dance'?   
Was that thought in Adrian's-   
Mind, you suppose...   
When he slammed down the visor-   
On poor Fitz's nose?) 

On toward the dining room,   
Scribbling notes, yet...   
Mac passes a room-   
Fitzcairn's clarinet!   
A dead rat's beside it,   
The reed's dark and stained.   
Mac sniffs it with care.   
'Of course.' All's explained. 

The Dining Room 

Juliette, Tynebridge-   
And Loxley are seated,   
With Duncan's arrival-   
The foursome's completed.   
'I know how Fitz died.'   
Tynebridge says, 'So do we.'   
'Actually, he was poisoned.'   
Says MacLeod ominously. 

'Poisoned???' A crash-   
Of thunder booms coldly.   
'How do you know?'   
'A little rat told me.'   
Mac tosses the rodent-   
On the table with flair,   
On cue, Juliette's screech-   
Pierces the air. 

Mac's stalking Tynebridge,   
'Last year, you went, Sir-   
With Fitz, to Brazil.'   
'A mere business venture!'   
'Come across any poisons?   
Perhaps brought some back?   
Death by curare-   
Simulates heart attack.' 

'You remember,' blurts Juliette,   
'That Indian tribe-   
Put it on blow darts?'   
(Going on to describe...)   
'They used it to shoot-   
The monkeys from trees.'   
'Who'd want to shoot monkeys?'   
Loxley asks, with unease. 

MacLeod interjects,   
'The Indians ate 'em.'   
(I guess if you're hungry-   
You'd appreciate 'em)   
'Did you eat a _monkey?_ '   
Loxley goads Juliette.   
'Not me, It was him!'   
(How could Tynebridge forget?) 

'They're not too bad.'   
Mac's now energized,   
'They taste just like...' ' _Chicken!_ '   
All say, synchronized.   
Then a scream from Marie-   
As she bursts in the room.   
One look at her face-   
Gives a foretaste of doom. 

'He's in the garage,   
Bludgeoned to death!   
He's lying by the car!'   
Not pausing for breath.   
' _Who?_ ' MacLeod prompts,   
' _Pierre!_ ' Marie's quaking.   
Juliette gives that shriek,   
Somewhere, crystal's breaking. 

Marie cries, 'I _loved_ him-   
Like a butler...a _brother._ '   
Mac goes for his notebook,   
(He'll soon need another.)   
The lights now go out.   
The storm winds are high,   
Sobs Marie, 'It's a sign-   
We are all going to die!' 

The Meat Locker 

Since Drimble's death,   
The weather's been dicey-   
So, his body's been stored-   
Down here, where it's icy.   
Hung on a hook,   
Not at all dignified,   
Now joined by Pierre,   
Brothers in homicide. 

As Mac totes him in,   
His expression grows clouded.   
He notes, the meat locker-   
Is getting quite crowded.   
Juliette expresses-   
Some thin words of pity,   
Pierre's battered corpse-   
Is not very pretty. 

Mac looks at Tynebridge-   
With mounting suspicion,   
After Tynebridge makes comments-   
Over Pierre's condition.   
But, they are chilled...   
Exhausted and shocked.   
All opt to retire.   
Mac: 'Keep your doors locked.' 

The Hallway, Various Locations in the Manor House 

Fitzcairn must stand silent,   
By armor, encased-   
While he's forced to witness-   
His mem'ry disgraced.   
Juliette and Loxley-   
Emerge for a tryst,   
Fitz growls to himself,   
When he sees his wife kissed. 

Their panting and fumbling-   
Stops at the sound.   
'What was that?' Juliette asks.   
'My heart...hear it pound?'   
She begs, 'Take me now!'   
Pulled away by that knave-   
Leaving Fitzcairn to seethe,   
'Hardly cold in my grave!' 

Downstairs, MacLeod-   
Pores over his notes.   
'Brazil, shooting monkeys...   
Butler, baker,' he quotes.   
Upstairs, Fitzcairn-   
Attempts to descend-   
The stairway, he does-   
End over rear end. 

MacLeod hears the racket-   
The armor plate makes,   
Bouncing downstairs,   
Like mini earthquakes.   
He runs out to Fitz.   
'It was Loxley!' Fitz steams,   
From somewhere upstairs-   
Juliette screams. 

Mac drags Fitz away,   
Leg stuck in the air,   
(As if he could move)   
Mac cautions, 'Stay there!'   
Then Mac confronts Tynebridge-   
And a ruffled Juliette.   
'More rats?' queries Tynbridge,   
Mac answers, 'You bet.' 

'Where's Loxley?' asks Mac,   
(Uneasiness growing)   
'Must be asleep.'   
Tynebridge: 'That's where _I'm_ going.'   
Mac will stay up,   
'Some reading to do.'   
Juliette says 'Goodnight,'   
She'll retire now, too. 

As soon as she's gone-   
Mac scoots back to Fitz,   
Pulls him down the hall,   
Ignoring the blitz-   
Of damning remarks,   
Fitzcairn's final whine...   
'I never did trust-   
Loxley! That swine!' 

'Will you _shut up?_ '   
Mac could easily hate him.   
Yet, he works hard-   
Struggling to extricate him.   
But the armor is tough,   
And Fitz isn't helping,   
Mac's finger is caught,   
But it's _Fitz_ that is yelping! 

Fitz bawls, 'I'm the victim!   
The poor murderee!   
Tomorrow you'll read-   
The will...I don't see-   
A suspect in sight.   
What am I to do?'   
'Well, Fitz, how I hate-   
To put this to you!' 

'I believe that your widow-   
Not only killed you...   
But she killed the butler-   
And did Drimble too!   
She had access to poison-   
And motive? Your _money!_ '   
Fitz forgot that a bumblebee-   
Needs lots of honey! 

Mac's fingers and knuckles-   
Are battered from prying.   
Fitz is jammed in the armor-   
But Mac keeps on trying...   
Until Juliette's shrieks-   
Again pierce the air,   
Stating the obvious,   
Mac warns, 'Stay there!' 

Fitz slowly tilts backward,   
Then topples again,   
His foot in the air,   
Snarling in pain.   
How he got himself into-   
That armor will be-   
To us, a forever-   
Unsolved mystery. 

Upstairs, in his bedroom-   
Loxley is sitting,   
Looking quite comfortable-   
As is befitting-   
A gentleman who-   
Is an honored houseguest,   
Except for the dagger-   
Rammed into his chest. 

Tynebridge and Juliette-   
Wear faces of doom.   
Mac asks, 'What are you-   
Doing in this room?'   
She: 'I heard a noise,   
His door stood ajar.'   
Mac tells her he knows-   
She's been lying so far. 

'You were seen kissing Loxley,   
Out in the hall!'   
Tynebridge defends her,   
'Bad taste, that's all.   
Doesn't mean that she killed him.'   
Mac: 'And you killed Fitz!'   
When she shrieks in his face,   
Mac's head nearly splits. 

'Would you stop that _screeching?_ '   
Mac's wincing in pain.   
'Me kill my sweet Fitzy?   
You must be insane!'   
'Well, mad or not,   
I'll lock you up tight,   
Stay put in your room-   
For the rest of the night.' 

'Oh, help me!' to Tynebridge,   
'He's trying to blame us,   
He's the real murderer,   
Planning to frame us.'   
She clutches his robe,   
Tynebridge pries her free.   
'I didn't hear-   
MacLeod accuse _me._ ' 

Mac drags her away-   
Yet, her squirming won't cease.   
'Tomorrow,' he vows-   
I will call the police.'   
'Unhand me, you big-   
Hairy brute! How unfair!'   
The late Simon Loxley   
Remains in the chair. 

Morning, Next Day 

'Open up there!'   
At the door, someone's pounding.   
Throughout the manor-   
The echoes resounding.   
Marie, all a-tremble,   
Still mourning her loss,   
Steals down the stairs,   
Waving her cross. 

To ward against evil-   
She grips the cross tightly,   
Then opens the door-   
To a figure, unsightly.   
An elderly crackpot,   
Grey-haired and stout,   
Bearded, unkempt-   
With a large bulbous snout. 

For a man with a cane-   
He's a vigorous fellow,   
As he enters the foyer-   
He commences to bellow,   
'It's bloody disgusting!   
I'm shocked absolutely!'   
Drawn by the clamor-   
Mac can only stare mutely. 

To Mac's sheer amazement-   
It's _Fitz,_ in disguise!   
This blustering curmudgeon-   
Is more than life size,   
Mac's shock turns to wonder-   
Then amusement-it's funny,   
The lengths Fitz will go-   
To safeguard his money. 

'Poor Fitz, such a fine man-   
Most foully, he died!   
And I, his sole heir-   
Was not notified!'   
'Who are you?' asks Tynebridge.   
'Hugh Fitzcairn, the sire-   
Of Hugh Fitzcairn, Junior   
Whose estate, I'll acquire. 

Mac sees no resemblance,   
Not even a little.   
Fitz sputters his protest,   
(Spraying Mac with his spittle.)   
'From this grave matter-   
You'll not distance me.   
It's the greatest importance-   
To my son's memory.' 

Growling 'bloody disgusting!'   
Fitz 'humphs' away-   
Mac leaves the room-   
No words can he say.   
Then, a loud scream-   
(It's becoming routine.)   
From Juliette's bedroom-   
All rush to the scene. 

Marie holds her cross-   
But it's far too late-   
To save Juliette-   
From her pitiful fate.   
Mac leaps on the bed-   
She couldn't be stiller-   
And Mac was so sure-   
That _she_ was the killer! 

Fitzcairn's devastated-   
This is a bombshell!   
'This two-timing slut-   
That Fitz loved so well!'   
There she lies, in repose-   
Lips slightly apart-   
Her makeup-perfection,   
A supreme work of art. 

Fitz's Study 

Fitzcairn has removed-   
His facial disguise.   
He's livid and fuming-   
With fire in his eyes!   
'I asked for your help!   
Now this takes place!'   
Mac's pained, as the anguish-   
Contorts his friend's face. 

'I'm sorry,' Mac laments.   
And he means it, sincerely.   
'SORRY?' screams Fitz,   
'When the one I loved dearly...   
My Juliette... is DEAD?'   
Mac says, 'Fitz, I know-   
How much she meant...'   
Fitz sneers, 'That's not so!' 

'To you, she was one of-   
Fitzcairn's little follies.   
Someone with whom-   
He had a few jollies.   
But...I loved her Mac,   
In spite of her trysts...   
You refused to believe that.'   
Fitz forlornly insists. 

You even accused _her...  
She_ killed me, you thought!'   
Mac swears that the guilty one-   
Won't go un-caught.   
Fitz grabs at the notes-   
Mac has kept carefully,   
'And how bloody hard-   
Is _that_ going to be?' 

'Only one bloody suspect-   
Remains on the list!'   
Fitz throws down the notebook.   
He's royally pissed!   
'Even _you_ can't screw _that_ up!'   
He grows more upset.   
Mac picks up his notebook,   
Crosses off Juliette. 

Tynebridge's Room 

Tynebridge is packing-   
Very feverishly.   
'Far from this loony bin-   
I want to be!'   
'Not yet!' warns MacLeod   
'Phone works, I just checked,   
I'm calling the police,   
'Cause you're the last suspect!' 

'If anyone's guilty-   
MacLeod, you're to blame.   
The dying began-   
The moment you came!   
How convenient that you-   
Control the estate.'   
I'm leaving now-   
No more will I wait.' 

But MacLeod is determined-   
That...come what may-   
The last of his suspects-   
Will not slip away!   
A scuffle ensues-   
The suitcase is dropped-   
Spewing the treasures-   
This rascal has copped. 

Silver and china,   
Fancy gold chalices,   
Candlesticks meant-   
For the finest of palaces.   
'He's not going to need it!'   
Tynbridge contends.   
Mac's amazed at the losers-   
Fitzcairn picked for friends. 

'I will not go quietly!'   
Tynebridge starts chucking-   
Objects at Duncan-   
But the Highlander's ducking.   
Tynbridge runs forward-   
Right into the door,   
With the impact, he crumples-   
Like a sack, to the floor. 

He awakes in a most-   
Unseemly condition.   
MacLeod's tied him up.   
What an awkward position!   
'You murderous bastard!   
MacLeod _let me go!_ '   
But he's roped to a chair,   
With the knots tied just so. 

MacLeod stuffs his mouth-   
To squelch his tirade.   
(Who's left to hear?   
Only the maid).   
As soon as Mac leaves-   
Saying, 'I'll be right back,'   
The door opens quickly-   
Just one teeny crack. 

A blowgun emerges-   
And one poisoned dart-   
In Tynebridge's neck-   
Very soon stops his heart.   
When Duncan returns,   
(Scotland Yard has been called),   
Another name scratched?   
He's aghast and appalled! 

The Meat Locker 

Tynebridge joins the others,   
And Mac's thoughts are jangling.   
There's a hook hanging empty!   
No corpse from it dangling!   
Mac pulls out that notebook,   
His only resort.   
He counts...then compares,   
He is one body short! 

'Looking for me?'   
(Bumblebee with a gun)   
'You were DEAD!' Mac exclaims,   
'Duncan, you're a cute one-   
But slow,' she observes.   
'Of course! In Brazil!   
One drug you brought back-   
Drops the heart rate to nil!' 

'I'm impressed.' Mac is right.   
'You killed them _all!_ '   
He revisits his list,   
But, she's on the ball.   
'Not quite, there is _you_ \-   
Too much, you now know.'   
'And the maid?' Juliette smiles,   
'She's the next one to go.' 

Two shots at close range-   
And Duncan falls dead.   
As she ponders his body,   
There's a noise...Turns her head-   
Hugh Fitzcairn Senior,   
Stomps in, stunned, dismayed.   
Outraged, that his 'son'-   
Was so cruelly betrayed. 

'You really are-   
A vile piece of work!'   
'You shouldn't be here,'   
She replies with a smirk.   
'Fitz adored you alone-   
Above other femmes.'   
'Fitz loved every woman-   
This side of the Thames!' 

'He married only _you!_ '   
'I married only him.'   
She raises her gun,   
Fitz acts on a whim...   
'Who'll take the blame,   
If you murder me?'   
She gives him a preview-   
What her story will be. 

'Detective, detective-   
Since my dear's heart attack,   
Everything has gone crazy,   
It's all out of whack.   
Drimble succumbed-   
Shot himself, hunting grouse,   
Then Pierre, cruelly bludgeoned-   
By Tynebridge, that louse.' 

'A mad jealous rage-   
Over that maid, Marie,   
And you know well-   
How French maids can be.'   
She flutters her lashes,   
All the time she is cooing,   
Looks up at Fitz Senior,   
Icy cold, 'How'm I doing?' 

'It's hard to see-   
What Fitz saw in you!'   
She shoots him, but still-   
Fitz Senior's not through.   
'Bitch!' Shot. 'Harlot!' Shot.   
'Whore!' Shot. Finally!   
'So much for his side-   
Of the family,' says she. 

But Duncan who lies-   
So still... _him_ she'll miss.   
She kneels by his side,   
On her finger, a kiss-   
Applied to his lips-   
But he gasps, quickly rises,   
Fitz Senior's back too!   
'We're full of surprises!' 

'Blanks.' They explain.   
'Impossible! Not fair!'   
She embraces MacLeod,   
Stroking his hair.   
'Fitz left me rich...   
MacLeod must decline,   
'Getting up in the mornings-   
Is a habit of mine.' 

'Why would I kill you'-   
'Round his neck, her hand snakes.   
He takes her last dart,   
'One prick's all it takes.'   
Mac takes her away-   
Leaving Fitz to reflect,   
Flies should regard-   
Bees' stings with respect. 

Later 

The storm clouds have passed,   
Having scrubbed the air clean.   
Birds chirp in the trees.   
The lawn's lush and green.   
Scotland Yard has arrived-   
At the scene of the crime.   
The bodies removed,   
One at a time. 

Mac brings Juliette out,   
He's immune to her pleading,   
'I'm a rich woman now,   
But it's _you,_ I am needing.'   
'Careful, she's tricky'-   
He warns the Yard crew.   
'You scheming ingrate!'   
'She screams a lot, too.' 

Now Juliette finds-   
Good reason to shout.   
From inside the doorway,   
Her Fitz has come out!   
'Fitz! Oh no! Help!   
What are _you_ doing there?   
Help me! Let me out!'   
Not a soul seems to care. 

They drive her away,   
Cursing and screaming.   
From the back window, she-   
Sees them both beaming.   
'Good riddance!' says Fitz.   
With a lighthearted wave.   
But Mac has concern-   
For the rascally knave. 

Fitz invested his cash-   
In Wall Street, USA.   
MacLeod now inquires,   
'Will you be okay?'   
'A few signatures,   
Then from here, I'll abscond,   
Fitz Senior cashes in-   
Other side of the pond.' 

'G-d bless America!'   
With that, Duncan leaves,   
Hands Fitz the newspaper,   
Then a big sigh, he heaves.   
He knows what's to come-   
From the newspaper sheet.   
Headline-'Greatest Crash-   
Ever to Hit Wall Street.' 

Now Fitzcairn is wailing.   
He falls to the ground.   
Mac winces in pain-   
Upon hearing the sound.   
Fitz writhes in his misery.   
(During this while-   
Do we see on Mac's face-   
The hint of a smile?) 

'I'm _ruined!_ ' 'You're _bankrupt!_ '   
'Wait. Wait!' Fitzcairn pleads.   
'I've got an idea!'   
Mac knows where _that_ leads.   
MacLeod offers Fitz-   
A manservant's job.   
'It pays very well-   
If you're not a snob.' 

'And in a short time-   
Five hundred and fifty-   
Years-Your fine house-   
Will be paid for, that's nifty.'   
He ignores Fitz's rants,   
And amid protestations-   
They proceed down the road-   
To unknown destinations. 

This mismatched pair-   
Is peculiar, indeed   
Outwardly different,   
But similar in need.   
Fitz's life without Mac-   
Would be shorter, by half,   
His gift to MacLeod?   
He makes Duncan laugh. 

Though rivals at times,   
In times of great strife...   
Each for the other-   
Would forfeit his life.   
We Highlander fans-   
Will never forget-   
Or cease being grateful-   
This odd couple met. 

Peace, Emit   
© 2002 

**_Under the Kilt_ from Highlander: The Official Site: **

Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production   
'I liked it because it had Roger Daltrey in it and it's a comedy.' 

**Ken Gord, Producer**   
'I think this was one of the best. Cleo Rocos, who has been Kenny Everett's partner, from the 'Kenny Everett Show', for years, did a great job. Roger Daltrey did a great job. Dennis Berry did a great job. I think that whole show just popped.' 

~ Justice   
  
---


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